Five magical things about Killian Jones
by AllAboutThatHook
Summary: Killian Jones is something around 355 years old (he's not sure); an age only very few manage to reach. He's a survivour, yes, but only a human nonetheless - simply made of flesh and bones. He had help.


_**Author's note: **__Hey there, mates! This is a five-chapter fiction telling about five magical things about our Captain that I noticed as I rewatched the whole series. Some are made up, yes, but others are based on actual theories. Hope you enjoy!_

_**Summary: **__Killian Jones is something around 355 years old; an age only very few manage to reach. He's a survivour, yes, but only a human nonetheless – simply made of flesh and bones. He had help._

_**Disclaimer: **__I own none of these amazing characters from 'Once Upon a Time'… especially the one who worries too much. They're all Adam &amp; Eddy's._

-/-

**1\. First thing: Leather ****armour**

"What the hell was that, Hook?!", Emma cries out on his face after slamming him on the trunk of a coconut tree. "What the hell was _**that**_?"

Hook tells himself he's glad she is focused more on what he has done rather than _why_, but feels his chest slightly tighten either way.

He watches her turn around, hand on her mouth seemingly still in shock about what has just elapsed, clearly unable to bear the sight of him right now. Sighing, he swears he can taste her distress even from this distance, and his first instinct is to 'innuendo' it away – after all, it worked once or twice before –, but he doesn't, unsure. He used to be able to at least have a clue on what she is thinking, but the last time he saw her before the lad's kidnapping was in that noisy land outside Storybrooke. Granted, he had spent the last two days with her in this goddamn jungle and three more before that aboard the Jolly, but not a word has been exchanged between them – only them – since that first night in Neverland when he gave her Bae's cutlass. His Emma-reading skills might have gone a tad rusty. "What_ever_ is your ailment now, Saviour?", he asks in another sigh, kicking a pebble half-heartedly to mask his frustration.

He's finally got her alone (even if she is the one who dragged him aside) and they are going to waste it arguing. Of course, he doesn't expect to spend it kissing (though he would _love_ a repetition), hugging or whatever else he'd love to do (to) with her, but at least making some progress with her.

Not sparring.

Emma turns to him so fast he's sure her neck is hurting. "No! No, I ask the questions and you _answer_ them!" she rasps, pinning him against the tree with her death-glare. "What did you do that for? I thought you had promised to help save Henry!"

"Yes, save Henry and then tell him he's an _orphan_!" Hook bites and likes when she flinches. "That his mother died by a poisonous arrow on her chest when I bloody well could've prevented it! – Is that what you would prefer? Because I–"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I'D PREFER, HOOK?" She screams through gritted teeth and literally stamps her foot, showing with clarity she is _this close_ from skinning him alive. "I'd prefer you don't fucking dare risk your life for mine again! – In any way!"

"For fuck's sake!" He throws a punch in the air, seething in anger at the rotten taste her bloody _preference_ leaves in his mouth. The reckless way she's been carrying herself since this journey began (jumping overboard, fighting lost boys carelessly) is infuriating. And he doesn't like it.

Not one fucking bit.

"Emma, if you die–"

"YOU ALL CAN STILL GO ON!" Her voice is already hoarse from the sudden abuse, her face is red with fury and determination and he's never seen her so livid, but her words is what hits him; on the guts, with such brutality he staggers back, because he _can't_! He doesn't know where it's coming from or how it has come to be, but _he can't_! "If I die you can still guide Regina to Henry, but if you die who's going to guide us, huh? Who else knows this damn place like you do? Who else knows each plant or fruit, which to eat or which not?", she growls. "Without you we are lost and clueless, Hook!"

Hook gulps.

He is not unfamiliar to flattery and compliments. God knows that living three centuries and a half has provided more than his fair share of ego boost, but for the life of him he can't remember the last time he was graced with _acknowledgements_. And damn her, he can see it now. Under layers and layers of ire and desperation and fear, Emma Swan recognizes his value and acknowledges his efforts put on a mission not even remotely related to him.

This makes the fight leave his system and urges him to stare at her for a moment and _read_.

Those anger-flushed cheeks, the wide eyes and slight tremor of her hands may deceive any lesser man, but Hook knows better. Although she means all she has just said, there's more: she's angry because she doesn't fancy him – or anyone, he guesses – dying on her account. Her wide eyes full of terror and shock tell him this woman thinks herself as the least worthy of such sacrifice, and her trembling hands belies her anger by showing just how much she's worried about him, wanting to search him all over for the arrow.

The right thing to do is to console and reassure her that he is fine and then be on their way for they've wasted enough time already and people – a charming protective father – might have already started to wonder what is taking them long. But the pirate is suddenly swept by a great, unexpected wave of _something warm _that steals his breath in a heavy exhale, makes his skin scorch and _she's the most amazing, wonderful creature to ever walk on earth…_

"Now let me see." Her voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of his bewitched state, but doing nothing to lessen it. In fact, Hook feels like if she were to tell him to fly, he would do it only because it's _her_. "Hook.", she insists when he doesn't move. "Let. Me. See."

He does; bends his head down and sighs in defeat. "Very well." He beckons her closer as he shrugs off the left side of his coat just half the way to expose his shoulder.

Then it hits him.

As Emma stops before him and her fingers reach for his vest buttons, it finally hits him on the face.

And he doesn't know if he likes or dreads it.

She undoes his buttons in a clinical, slow manner and by the time the last one goes free his breathing is labored, his skin sizzling and his eyes hopelessly following her greens. Her fingertips push the left part of his vest aside, feeling for any holes or wounds and he swallows loudly (and he's not ashamed). Her eyes dart to his at the obvious sound before widening in surprise, all her body going tense. However his face is like right now, it must be really something.

Hook doesn't look away.

Neither does she.

The seconds that they spend like this are such sweet hell that the feeling is like he would do anything to end it _and_ give anything to have time itself stop its course just so he could stay like this with her forever; even if they're in Neverland, even if it means the crocodile gets to live! Because it's Emma and, _right now_, she's the only thing that matters to him.

_He loves her so damn much_

Emma coughs and blinks a few times, her cheeks flushed. "Uh, nothing here.", she murmurs, but her hand stays firmly on his chest, rendering him incapable to inhale a single breath. "You weren't hit."

He swallows hard and slowly shakes his head before touching his forehead to hers. "Oh, lass…", he pants. "… I think I was…"

Her only response comes when she clenches her hand over his skin, messing his chest hair. Festering silence goes on for ages. Then he hears a step being taken and open his eyes to see her mask of nothing back on as she eyes his coat suspiciously.

That's how he knows the moment is over. And his feelings ignored.

"You s–" Emma clears her throat, blushing. He wonders why. "You said it was your left. There's no hole in your coat and you are not injured. But I _heard_ the arrow hit and I _saw_ when you took it and threw it far. How come there's no sign of any of this?" She asks with genuine curiosity and interest.

He feels bitter. The experience of being ignored and so easily put aside like something so insignificant tasting sour on his tongue. But it's his fault in the first place. He should've never said anything and he practically poured his heart out on her already full plate. She's never given any signs of being interested; not in _feelings_, at least. And he's just shown her a broken trunk full of it of his own accord.

With this thought in mind, Hook sighs and beings redressing. "This is no ordinary coat, love, it's enchanted."

"Oh.", she nods as though it's totally natural. "So it, what, repels arrows?"

Hook gives her the look. "… It works as efficiently as any armour. Never wondered why it looks so heavy?"

"Doesn't explain how your coat hasn't any marks. I heard the arrow hit."

He shrugs. "It mends itself."

Emma nods again, but slowly, trying to digest what she's just learned. "You mean your leather coat is actually a leather armor that mends itself after taking an arrow?"

"Or taking hits from swords and axes. It's leather, but as efficiently as any steel.", he repeats, specifying. The urge to chuckle at her expression is so strong he almost indulges, but doesn't. "And that's why," he begins, stepping closer and fixing her hair with his hook (his addiction). "I protected you and _will_ protect you again if the need arises: because I won't be risking anything."

There is a pause that Swan uses to look deep into his eyes, looking for something he hopes she does not notice. He is the one who clears his throat now as he averts her greens for a moment before smirking down at her. "Have we found ourselves a deal?"

Emma scoffs at his extended hand, but grins back at him while reaching and shaking his hook instead. "Deal.", she says, unaware of the fact that a piece of something important has just clicked into place somewhere in his heart.

(That's how he knows he would protect her from any arrows, swords or axes even while shirtless).

**Coming next: 2. Mermaid's "tear"**

_**Review?**_


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